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The Semiotics of 'Siskel & Ebert'

Features
by Sam Adams
July 17, 2014 11:56 AM
2 Comments
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Ignatiy Vishnevestky, Roger Ebert and Christy Lemire

In a fascinating essay that's part personal reminiscence and part theoretical deconstruction, the A.V. Club's Ignatiy Vishnevetsky delves into the history of Siskel and Ebert's "At the Movies,"  including his role as one of the show's final co-hosts. Vishnevestky was only 24 when he was picked by Ebert and his wife, Chaz, to occupy the seat across the aisle from the Associated Press' Christy Lemire on "Ebert Presents at the Movies."

Vishnevetshy was, he admits, "alternately manic and smug" at first, and he takes his share of the blame for "Ebert Presents'" eventual failure. (The headline "I Killed 'At the Movies'" is a bit much.) But in examining why the show succeeded for so long, even surviving the death of Roger Ebert's indispensable sparring partner, Gene Siskel, and his replacement with the comparatively lightweight Richard Roeper, Vishnevetsky digs deep into the semiotics of television itself. TV producers, he says, "talk a lot of theory — mostly semantics and pragmatics — though they couch it in the soft, slippery language of viewer feelings.... The whole business of readability, which treats the show as text, smacks of unwitting academia."

Vishnevestky is not the first to parse "Siskel & Ebert" as a sitcom about two guys in a movie theater. But he enlarges that observation with his behind-the-scenes insights, examining how every detail, from the set to the iconic "Thumbs Up" rating system, was designed to establish and sustain that frame.

The balcony set (ours was in the original "Sneak Previews" studio, WTTW) is much smaller than it looks, designed around the old principle of forced perspective.... The wide shot of the screen is recorded separately, since the cameras usually sit in the space where the lower level of the theater (actually a digital matte) is supposed to go.

The director is Don DuPree, a seemingly ageless Southerner with a taste for bespoke shirts and chunky wristwatches; he has been directing these shows since the early ’90s. Despite having overseen hundreds of episodes of "Siskel & Ebert" and "Ebert & Roeper," Don is not a movie buff, which makes him the team’s ultimate authority on what is and isn’t engaging. Crosstalks — the unscripted back-and-forths which are the core of the show — are judged on their ability to pique non-moviegoer Don’s interest. He works from the control room, along with Chaz Ebert, who effectively runs the show.

Everything, in other words, is designed to sustain the narrative frame, and to reinforce the show’s relationship to its viewers — everything except the reality of hosting the show, a fragmented process full of teleprompter reads, booming intercoms, and white-hot lights. One inevitably develops an appreciation for Siskel, Ebert, and Roeper as actors, able to remain in-character despite flubs and technical snafus, and to read the teleprompter and then improvise an argument in the same voice.

What eventually killed the show, Vishnevetsky suggests, is not (just) his performance as a host — which, to be fair, wasn't really wasn't all that bad — but the transition from a culture where critics served as cultural guides and one where they're islands in a rushing tide of opinion and commentary:

The theory goes that, in order to hook a TV viewer, they must be convinced that they’re in on the show. You continually summarize and re-cap. The secret to hooking an online reader is to make them think that they’re being left out of some larger phenomenon, and the only way to rectify this is to click right here, right now.

The two media work off social anxiety; TV cools it, and the click cycle stokes it.

I'm not sure I entirely buy this — explainer posts and aggregation sites, for one, soothe FOMO anxieties rather than heightening them — but it's true that Ebert was the last critic to wield that kind of paternalistic influence, a writer of whom they could feel that if they'd heard his views on a movie, they knew what they needed to know. Maybe Vishnevestky was, as he says, the wrong man for the job, but when the job's unofficial title is Be Roger Ebert, it's pretty tough to nail the particulars.

2 Comments

  • Serena | July 17, 2014 4:01 PMReply

    It was a failed experiment. You had the completely populist Christy Lemire on one hand who had THE BREAKFAST CLUB as one of her favorite films, and on the other hand you had the European influence in more ways than one who had obscure 1920s films that have probably never seen the light of a DVD release on the other hand. I'm sure the producers thought the opposites-attract pairing would have the same fireworks as previous pairings, but it mostly just looked like a mom and son lightly arguing. Nobody will have the chemistry of Ebert and Siskel, and that's not a fault that Vishnevetsky can really carry on his shoulders.

    For what it's worth, I liked Vishnevetsky--hell, I even had a crush on him--except for his rave review of Godard's FILM SOCIALISME. Lemire asked him point-blank if he still would've raved about it if a nobody student filmmaker had made it, and he really couldn't give an answer, which tells you he was really praising it because it was a Godard and not for the content.

  • PNK | July 17, 2014 2:36 PMReply

    You have the guy's name spelt wrong so many times in this article.

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